The Heart Does Go On
by CelestialHeavens1
Summary: Eight years have passed since the sinking of the Titanic when Cal finds out something unexpected on a trip in Europe.
1. Chapter 1

A big thank you to Sash-1984 for pointing out to me that there was some spelling errors. My spell check didn't pick them up the first time.

Okay, okay, maybe I should clarify. I own none of James Cameron's Titanic : I own nothing. Other than Virginia Matthews, unnamed son #1, Beatrice Lane, unnamed daughter # 1, Peter, random director guy, and Jean-Luc.

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><p>"Rose." The name slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He stared straight forward, watching the red head woman walk down the streets of Paris, over a year or so after the war, dressed in extravagant clothes. She looked stunning. Where had she been on the Carpathia? He hadn't seen her name on the survivors' list nor had any of his private detectives had never found her. What that gutter rat alive? What was she doing in Paris? Did she live here now?<p>

It had been eight years since he had last seen Rose.

A man approached her and kissed her full on the mouth. Rose pushed him back hard and the two appeared to argue. Hope swelled in Caledon Hockley's chest.

"Standby and cut!" a voice yelled, and a man walked to the sidewalk that Rose and the man were on. "That was perfect, excellent! Rose, you were brilliant. Peter, I just wasn't feeling the emotion from you. You're in love with this woman. She means the world to you and you're trying to stop her from leaving you for another man who she has been having an affair with, not begging her to leave you. This is Paris, people! I want to see passion and romance. This is the City of Love! Standby on the set?" he yelled. "Standby to roll tape! Roll tape! Standby camera one on slate. Stand by to announce slate."

"Take four delta of 'A Love to Remember' and action!"

It clicked in Cal's head then that Rose was alive. This was her. She was an actress. She was making her own way in the world. She hadn't needed him or Ruth or any of their world. His Rose was gone.

Sighing, he sat down on a bench across the street, figuring he could watch her now. See he alive for the first time in eight years. Then he would wake up to an cold, empty bed, his second wife's lawyer trying to pull more money from him, despite that Caledon had full custody of they're daughter.

His first wife, Virginia Matthews, had divorced him and all but kidnapped his son. He had seen him four times since he was born four years ago. She claimed Caledon to be too cold and manipulative. She said he was still in love with Rose. She didn't understand him at all. She was wrong.

Cal rested his head in his hand for a moment. Maybe Virginia hadn't been so wrong. That's what always made him so angry with her. She was dense and calculating and cold. She didn't see any of his lies but the one, and she took his son away from him for it.

His second wife, Beatrice Lane, was a match set up by his father. She was the daughter of a wealthy oil baron. He had married her only because his father wanted him to, which was the same reason he had married the first. She was a lot of things; she was not very bright, her stood around unless you told her to do something, and she was an opium addict. Her only redeeming quality was she gave birth to his daughter, however she was an unfit mother, selfish, and he had found her dangling their daughter off the third floor balcony with a crazed grin with her only reasoning being the baby got more attention from members of society than she did. When he tried to get her professional help, she filed for a divorce. Fortunately, the judge and the prosecutors had been at the same party and seen what Beatrice had done. The judge granted him full custody immediately.

It was raining now on the back of his head, but he couldn't find himself to care. His face was still in his hand, elbows still on his knees. For the first time in who knows how long, he felt himself close to crying. For finding Rose, even if just from a distance, for his daughter who wouldn't be able to know her mother, for his son that he might not meet again, for all that had been lost the night the ship sunk, and he wasn't crying over the lose of the Le Cœur de la Mer. He was crying for the one thousand five hundred thirteen people who had died that night, and as he watched Rose, he knew that Jack Dawson had been a part of that.

He heard a woman gasp and stop. He didn't need to look up. He knew it was Rose. It had to be her. It had to be.

"Cal?" He heard her whisper, but he didn't dare look up, for fear he was dreaming. If he looked up, the dream would be over. "Cal?" she asked louder, "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to forget," he muttered. He heard the wet bench creak beside him as she sat down next to him.

"How's that working out for you?"

"Not too well," he admitted, pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wiping his face and the evidence of the tears away. After all, he was Caledon Hockley, and he refused to be seen crying. Rose snorted, ignoring how Cal gapped openly at her. She knew he looked like he half believed he was still asleep and half believe he had somehow died or this was one of those stories where the ghost comes to teach you a lesson. She wanted to roll her eyes. "You look well," he said.

At that statement, she outright laughed. Cal didn't know how to take that. It was impolite to laugh at something someone said, unless you were supposed to. "I think we both know that's a lie," she told him, "I've been working thirty hours straight, with food breaks in between. The only thing that looks 'well' right now is the bed waiting for me upstairs."

He stared. She had been working nearly two days without breaks? How had she managed? "And before you get into it, Cal," she added, "I am so not in the mood to hear how delicate I am, or how you suddenly miss me and my mother is dying and any nonsense like that. You can't guilt-trip me."

Did she really think that lowly of him? "Fine, no guilt-trips," he said, "Here's the truth. I'm here because I needed to get away from psycho ex-wife one and two. I needed to get away from listening about how I'm such a disappointment with that stupid company and how I should be controlling the riots there and how this person owns something that will benefit Hockley Steel. 'Marry his daughter so we can get this.' 'Marry their daughter so we can get that.' I'm sick of it!" he shouted into the rain onto the deserted street of Paris.

It was quiet for a moment, but then Rose smiled at him, giving him a small, sarcastic clap. "Congratulations Cal, you have finally figured out something I learned at seventeen. Actually, I take that back, fifteen, when Mother's brilliant idea was that she'll marry me off to someone rich so that she can keep up her lifestyle."

Cal sighed, the rain not seeming to be letting up. "We should go inside." Rose nodded. The pair walked to the elevator.

"Good evening, Mr. Hockley," the elevator operator said to the steel tycoon. "Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Dawson."

"Bonsoir, Jean-Luc. Mon plancher, s'il vous plaît."

"Bien sûr, Mademoiselle Dawson. Il me fera plaisir d'."

"You speak French fluently?" Cal asked, stunned.

"I've been here for almost six months. I'd better by now. I'd never survive if I didn't," Rose huffed, clearly not loving the fact that her ex-fiancé who was supposed to think she was dead was standing in the same elevator as her.

As the elevator reached Rose's floor, the highest floor that the elevator went, she made a move to get out. "Profitez de votre soirée, Mademoiselle Dawson," Jean-Luc said to her. It was clear he was fond of the red-haired actress.

"Je vous remercie. Passez une bonne soirée aussi. Je vais vous voir belle et au début à onze demain." Rose stepped forward to move out of the car, "Si mon directeur vient me chercher avant cela, lui dis je vais frapper la tête de ses épaules s'il vient dans ma chambre. Assurez-vous lui rappeler qu'il me doit et jeter au nom de sa petite épouse est là aussi."

Jean-Luc laughed. "Je vous remercie. Je le ferai. Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle Dawson."

"Bonne nuit," she replied. It was then Cal made his decision and followed her.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Other than Samuel, Samuel's unnamed wife, Virginia Matthews, unnamed son #1, Beatrice Lane, unnamed daughter # 1, Peter, random director guy, and Jean-Luc.

Again, just to clarify, I own none of James Cameron's Titanic characters. Those other one that I listed are all made up by me.

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><p>"What now, Cal?" Rose asked, sounding exasperated as she continued walking down a long hall towards her room. Her, his ex-fiancée in question, kept walking as if she had never talked and he continued to follow her.<p>

Admittedly, he had been more than a bit stunned to see that Rose had a room in this hotel. For one, he was staying here. Two, if she had been here six months like she said, how was she affording to stay in a place like this. More than that, the top floor of this hotel was all suites.

"Can we talk, perhaps? Please?" Maybe it was because she had seen him crying earlier and thought he was someone else, or maybe it was because the look on his face looked as if she had just driven over his brand new puppy, or more accurately, taken all his money away from him and made him live like some third classman.

"Fine," she sighed, opening the door to her suite and stepping inside, flicking on the lights. There was a big bouquet of red roses in a crystal vase on the sitting room table. "Not again. 'Rose,'" she read from the card, "'you're a doll. Never worked with an actress as wonderful as you. -Samuel.'" She rolled her eyes, moving around the room and then into the other room, muttering something that sounded like, "You wouldn't be thinking that if I hadn't saved your little wifey's life and brought her home with me. No, because then the two of you wouldn't have met."

Meanwhile, she hadn't returned from what appeared to be the bedroom, leaving Cal standing awkwardly in the doorway. When she walked back in the room, she poured herself a brandy and sat down on the divan, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag from it. She motioned to the plush armchair.

"Well, aren't you going to sit or are you going to stand there all night?" Cal moved awkwardly to the chair, and Rose watched, rather amused from the divan. He looked like a schoolboy who was admitting to the headmaster that he had done something wrong. "What? Want one?" she asked as she caught him staring. He had never stared so openly at her before, but then again, all his walls seemed so far down tonight and Rose was actually finding it amusing. She had the upper hand. Cal was in her world now, not the other way around. He shook his head, and when she spoke again, her voice was low and dangerous. "Last I remember, you rather enjoyed cigars and brandy."

Cal flinched. Good, she thought, she had struck a nerve.

He choked to find the words. He wasn't used to Rose acting like this. He realized he didn't know the woman in front of him at all. She had to be in her twenties and she had to be pretty well off, considering her fancy dresses and lavish suite.

"You changed your clothes," he noted her changing in outfits from when she entered the room to when she entered from the bedroom.

"Give a man a prize," she said sarcastically, taking another drag from her cigarette.

"Why?" he choked out.

"Well for one, the studio owns that dress. It's absolutely priceless," then seeing the opportunity, she couldn't help but add, "like something else I know of." He didn't make a move. He didn't flinch, he didn't confirm nor deny. He did nothing. Rose stared at him, stunned. "My God, that's why you're here isn't it? For some stupid necklace. Well I hate to break it to you, but it's at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of that godforsaken ship." She stood, "You can let yourself out," she told him, marching into the bedroom and shutting the door.

Something in Cal seemed to snap. He didn't care about that necklace, not now. His ex-fiancée who had supposedly died on the Titanic eight years ago had been sitting in the same room as him. He thought it was only right for him to be… well… shocked at the recent discovery.

"Rose," he said, walking to her bedroom door, "I'm not here for the necklace. If you had it, it was yours to do want ever you wanted with it." He felt himself sliding to the floor, unaware that on the other side of the door, she did the same thing. "I wanted to apologize," he finally was able to say. "I hurt you and made your life miserable and I'm sorry. I'm sorry what happened there. I'm sorry Dawson-" he coughed out finally, "died."

"How did you know he's dead?" Her voice came from the other side of the door, sounding more like the sixteen-year-old girl he hand known when they first got engaged. She sounded lost and scared. He didn't know how to react.

"I sent out private investigators," he finally admitted, "I gave them your name and his, pictures of you, a miserable sketch of him, hoping that if I found one of you, I would find the other. They couldn't find you. Everyone just assumed you had died. Father finally got sick of it after three years. He threatened to cut me out, forced me to marry a woman that made me wonder why I hadn't just stayed on that ship. I would have been better off."

"How so?" she whispered. He would like to think that some of the tears that he could hear from her voice were for him, but he knew they probably weren't. Even so, he wanted to make her laugh. He wanted her to smile and not acting cold towards him. He wanted his Rose, his sweet Rose back.

"Well," he started, wracking his brain to figure out something to make her laugh or at least smile, "I wouldn't have had to listen to her, for one. Listening to her try to act smart was antagonizing, unreasonable torture. Listening to her in general was cruel and unusual torture."

Then he heard it. A small laugh muffled by a hand came from the other side of the door. "That's awful, Cal," she said softly.

"Your mother," he continued softly, "she blamed herself that you had died. We even had a funeral for you. She found ways to support herself pretty quickly though."

"Let me guess," Rose's voice came, "She went to a party, met a rich man, and was married before the year was out."

Cal chuckled softly, "You know your mother well." He stared at the wall before him. "Why'd you do it, Rose? Why did you pretend that you died? I would have settled for us breaking the engagement. I wouldn't have left you on the streets."

From the other side of the door, Rose sighed. Tears were streaming down her face as she twisted the small charms on her charm bracelet that had charms from all the places she had been since the sinking. "I was dying, Cal. I was suffocating and screaming and no one ever reacted. And then that night, on the ship, I was just so angry," Cal listened in horror to what she was saying, "I wanted to make them all pay because that will teach them not to listen. Then suddenly I was at the back of the ship, climbing over the rail and not even the Titanic was big enough."

She didn't need to continue. He got the picture. She had wanted to kill herself just so she would get attention from the people around her. He had always wondered what Dawson had that he hadn't but he finally understood. Dawson had loved Rose and gave her the attention she deserved, while he had tried to buy her affection. And though she didn't direct the statement at him, Cal knew he was included on the list of people in the 'them' she was talking about. His head fell back against the wall, tears rolling down his face. He would never admit that he was crying.

"I wish I had known," he said softly, his voice breaking, "I wish you would have told me."

"You wouldn't have listen," she said back in the same quiet, hollow voice. He went to protest, but she continued. "You probably don't hear it, but you've changed a lot."

"Is that good or back?" he asked. He heard her take a deep breath.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Can we start over?" he asked, listening closely to hear her answer, trying not to be too hopeful. Hope, he had learned, was a dangerous thing.

"I can't forget all the things you did to me. For goodness sake, you shot at me! You shot me into a sinking ship! That not exactly something one can forget."

Caledon Hockley was a lot of things; prideful, arrogant, snobbish, but stupid wasn't one of them. He knew when he was unwanted. He knew when somebody wanted him to leave. These past several years had done wonders to his comprehension of these people.

"I know," he said quietly, wiping his eyes and standing, "For what it's worth, I really am sorry."

He walked to the door, pausing only to fiddle with the small, bottom lock on the door to try to open it.

For what it's worth, he thought, I really did love you, Rose.

"Cal, wait," he froze at the door at the sound of her voice directly behind him. "I wasn't done."

Rose reached out to him as he turned and she took his hand in hers, walking them to the divan before she continued. "We hurt each other so many times, Cal. I want desperately to say yes, let's start over, but I can't. We have too much history together." Cal nodded, thinking she was done again; he stood to walk to the door. Rose yanked him back down with their still intertwined fingers. "Instead of starting over, we can move forward from this point? We can be friends and make something work?"

Why was her statement phrased more like a question? Was she really looking for his approval? He looked at her hopeful smile and realized she was still painfully young, younger than both of his wives had been, and yet, she had suffered more hardship that most of grown men and women he knew.

To both of their surprise, he found himself nodding. What would it mean to be friends with the girl he had loved and mourned for so long?


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you everyone who has read this story. I don't own anyone except the Sullivans, Charlotte Steward, and Eva McCarthy. They were made up by me for the purpose of this story.

Disclaimer: I own none of James Cameron's Titanic characters.

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><p>"Caledon, you're finally back from Paris, good boy," his father greeted him when as Nathan walked in the door following Cal return to Pittsburg. He promised Rose that he wouldn't tell anyone she was alive. "How was it?"<p>

Cal smiled at his father. "It was just what I needed."

Nathan Hockley's jaw dropped. "You met someone?"

"Just some actress," Cal said, giving a half lie. She wasn't just some actress. She was the dead woman he had pined after for eight years.

Nathan Hockley was in shock. He didn't know what to do. The last time he had seen Cal in this good of a mood, it was the morning after Rose had said yes to his marriage proposal. It didn't make sense to him though. Rose was dead and his son had been in an awful, fowl mood ever since. Clearly, this actress wasn't just some actress.

"So what's her name?" he asked his son.

"Rose Dawson," Cal answered, having no reason to lie to his father. Nathan Hockley hadn't known about that gutter rat and Rose's affair. Ruth had promised to keep the matter confidential between only the two of them. "She's from Iowa. They were filming in Paris. Interesting girl."

"Wife number three?" Nathan asked, hoping and praying his son would say no. There was no way he wanted the chance of another Rose as a daughter-in-law. Cal snorted.

"That is highly unlikely." He knew there was no way Rose would marry him, not after how long it took to decide that they could be friends.

"Good," Nathan mused, looking out the window of the study in the Hockley mansion. "I never quite liked actresses."

"She would probably be better than the first two," Cal muttered under his breath. Nathan confidently ignored the comment.

"So your divorce went through. That idiot Jameson won't be getting another dime from out pockets. The Sullivans are having a gala tonight. They're son, Samuel, is back in town. He is about your age and is looking to buy steel to build a boat. Some project of his, they said." Cal nodded. "I'm expecting you to get his business. This could be a very profitable sale. Understand?"

Cal nodded, showing he understood.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Pittsburg, Rose was pacing back and forth in a home office, her director sitting behind his desk.

"Of all the absurd, harebrained, rash, ludicrous things you want to do, you want to build a boat? Please tell me there's wax in my ears and I am not hearing you clearly? You want to build a boat?" Samuel Martin Sullivan, the director of the last several films Rose had been in, smiled sheepishly at her.

"You want to build a boat?" Grace Sullivan, formerly Gracje Warszawska, asked incredulously as she entered the room, "What in God's name possessed you to want to do such a thing, Sam?"

"It's this absolutely brilliant movie idea. The studio already gave me a green light on it. It will be set during the war on a hospital ship. There are nurses and then they'll fall in love with their patients, but it won't be so simple. Rose, I'll give you a copy of the script when they're done with it, but basically, it will be a very tiny version of a hospital ship."

Rose scoffed, "Your crazy, Sam."

He grinned. "That's what everybody says, but with all due respect, I'm not the one who auditions for every one of my movies."

_"That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here."_

Though the words had been spoken long ago under very different circumstances, Rose could hear Jack's voice in her ear as if she were standing beside him. What would he have said if he had known she gave Cal a second chance?

She stood suddenly. "If you will excuse me, I think I will take a nap before such a long social event tonight."

It was already evening when Grace woke Rose. Rozalia, Grace and Samuel's five-year-old daughter from Grace's first husband, jumped on the bed and stared at Rose. The child loved Rose. The older woman guessed it had to do with the fact that Rozalia was named for Rose. The young actress had taken care of Grace while she was pregnant after a fire from faulty electrical wiring left Grace both a widow and homeless.

A young Polish woman was a year older than Rose was and had no family in the States and had met her husband on the same doomed liner Rose had met Jack. He had helped her into a lifeboat by saying she was pregnant and they were married, even though at the time, it wasn't true. The officer had been kind and let the young Polish woman and her 'husband' onto the lifeboat. Her and Rose had bonded over the horror of that night, and they quickly became friends, Rose allowing Grace to live with her.

"Anna Rosie," Rozalia said softly, "Mama says time to wakey."

Rose opened her eyes and blinked. She gave a smile to the five year old. "You want to pick out a dress for me?" Rozalia grinned and ran to Rose's wardrobe to find Rose a party dress. Grace snorted.

"She'll pick out something too fancy. She tried to convince me to let her wear a ball gown to this." Rose smiled, getting up. She had bathed earlier and fixed her hair so she could sleep longer. All she had to do was get dressed and fix her hair up. After all, this was Pittsburg. Cal's father surely would be there. He would recognize her. Cal had.

"Anna Rosie, you look pretty in this."

Róża held out a strapless silvery-white dress and long, white opera length gloves. It was a dress a designer from Ireland who worked in California as a costume designer had begged Rose to let her make a few years earlier. It had a tight-fitting bodice that continued until around the knees, where it flared out to create an almost modern, yet at the same time, old-fashioned silhouette. It was covered in a sheer fabric at the top and the dress was backless. It came to the mid ankle in the front and was slightly longer in the back. It had actually sparked trends though Europe when she had worn it at a European premier almost a year ago. It was scandalous enough to cause talk among the people of high society, tame enough to be worn to events like this, and dramatic enough to cause an impression on all.

The sheer fabric at the top eliminated the need for any sort of necklace. The gloves eliminated the need for a bracelet tonight. All she would need is earrings.

Despite the newest tend, Rose hair remained long. Samuel said it was her selling point though. Fiery red hair with a fiery red attitude.

"Miss," a servant of the Sullivan house said, knocking on the door before opening it, "The party has begun."

"Thank you," she told him.

Down stairs, Róża was the life of the party. Nathan Hockley was not amused at how Jeffrey and Sarah Martin Sullivan's granddaughter was the center of attention. A young woman in a scandalous silvery-white gown, if it could be called that, and titian hair that was done up in a way that he hadn't seen used since 1905. It was gather up into an updo. Did she not see how tight the awful garment she wore was?

"Anna Rosie!" the five-year-old broke society's rules, running to the red headed woman. The woman swept the girl up into her arms, letting the little girl settle on her hip. "Everybody, this is my Anna Rosie." The woman, Anna Rosie, Nathan supposed her name was, laughed.

"Miss Dawson," Jeffrey Sullivan said, "I haven't seen you all week!"

"Your son is a handful. Half the time I wonder if I'm his nanny." The crowd roared with laughter. There was qualities of Rose DeWitt Bukater in her, the hair, the attitude, that Nathan would have to make sure didn't affect on Caledon. He didn't like this woman, not the way she dressed or acted.

"Miss Dawson," someone asked, "As in Rose Dawson, the actress?" Charlotte Steward, a society queen, stepped forward to face the woman. Samuel smiled at Charlotte, motioning to Rose.

"Of course. She is one of this best, Mrs. Steward, and at HSR Studios, we accept nothing but the best. I am telling you, this girl is going places."

"To the stars," Nathan could have sworn he heard Grace Sullivan, Samuel's wife mutter, sharing a meaningful look with Rose. Rose slipped a hand up to her mouth, smiling behind it. Charlotte ignored the side-conversation, and turned back to Rose.

"My granddaughter simple loves you. My daughter and her husband live in New York however and she is with them right now, so she was unable to make it. If you wouldn't mind signing something for her…?" Rose smiled at the woman. She wasn't like the other women of society, and yet she still held their respect.

"Of course. If you wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes, I'll have a servant fetch a photograph." Charlotte smiled.

"That will be fine. By the way, if I might add, your gown is stunning. It is simply rebellious and daring enough for only you to be able to pull it off." Rose smiled graciously at the woman. "Do tell, who designed it."

"Eva McCarthy. She was some young Irish immigrant who begged me for weeks to let her make me a gown. She works in Samuel's costume department. Her work is incredible. Her Majesty even asked Eva to design Princess Mary's gown for an upcoming state dinner."

And so the party went on.

Cal was polite. He was getting sick of being polite. If it were up to him, he might never be polite again in his life. All night he smiled politely to the ladies and made polite small talk with them. He made polite conversation with the other men and politely took a drink. As he stood on the balcony off the ballroom, he decided he would throw himself from it if he had to be polite once more tonight.

"You look like I feel," a smug voice said. Cal turned sharply to face Rose, an annoyed expression on her face.

"And that would be?"

"If I have to hear one more time about how wonderful they think my acting is or my dress is, I'm going to lose it and start yelling at them." Cal turned back to the view from the stop he stood.

"Actually I was thinking about throwing myself off this balcony just so I don't have to be polite again. I mean the drop is not enough to actually kill…" Rose laughed and his heart skipped a beat.

"On the Titanic, I yelled at the lift operator. He thought I was a crazy lady. I told him 'I'm through being polite and I may never be polite again in my life' or something along those lines." Cal chuckled.

"I think my father has suddenly began to dislike you."

"Good." He turned to her, surprised. "I never liked him much to begin with. Secretly, he looked at me far too much like I was something to sell to the butchers." Cal's eyes widen. How had he missed his father looking at her like that? They had been engaged for a while before the Titanic disaster. How had he missed so much?

"Trust me, he looks at everyone that way." Rose shook her head.

"I overheard him talking once to an associate or someone how the only reason why he and Mother had set up an engagement between you and I was because of our name. He said if I stepped one toe off a very fine line, he would get rid of me and make sure no one would want me, good name or not."

Cal's lips slip apart in understanding. It explained why Rose had behaved so carefully until that night aboard the ship. If she had decided that her life was so miserable that she wished to die, then it was no wonder why she started acting up. It wouldn't have mattered to her anymore. Nothing was at stake anymore.

"Well, he has no say now. He's not in control anymore, as much as it pains him." Rose smiled.

"Good." She turned to watch the stars that were hardly visible with the city lights. "You know, the stars are lost loved one looking down on us from heaven. A shooting star is a soul going to heaven."

Cal could tell from the wistfulness in her voice that it must have been something Dawson had said to her. She really had loved him, he knew. If Dawson hadn't died that night, Rose would have been married to him. They probably would have had little red and blond headed children. At least one of their children would have to look like Rose or have her hair.

They would have been spirited children, he knew. Maybe he and Dawson would have forgiven each other. Maybe he would have let Rose go happily to the man she truly love.

It made him sick knowing it wasn't him. It made his stomach twist and turn to know, even while they were engaged, she had only tolerated him. She had never looked at him the way she had Dawson. She had never kissed him like he had watched her kiss Dawson, plead to him that she could never lose him. He wasn't the one she wanted. He would never be the one she wanted. He wanted to desperately throw himself from the balcony.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I don't own anyone except the Sullivans, Charles Holloway, and Melvin Donnelly. They were made up by me for the purpose of this story.

Also, I added a poll to my page. Be sure to vote. Your votes will determine which story gets updated first.

Disclaimer: I own none of James Cameron's Titanic characters.

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><p>"So how do you like it? I call it the Gratia. It's Latin for-"<p>

"Grace," Rose cut Samuel off, "I know."

"Fine. No need to huff at me."

"Samuel, you built a giant liner, not a yacht, despite what you think. This is what, a ten feet shorter than the Mauritania? After you're done filming, are you going to sell it to a cruise line?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Rose. It's only four hundred and eighty feet in length." Rose rolled her eyes.

"Will you just admit that you're crazy and have no idea what your doing? Let alone, you're insane if you think I'm walking onto that floating death trap."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't care."

"Well, if that's all, I'll be off." Samuel turned sharply, looking at Rose like she was crazy.

"Off? Off where?"

"To get something to eat. Margaret Brown, she spotted a picture of me in a tabloid and asked if we could meet. She was-"

"On Titanic. I know." He rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "Fine. Go. Shoo. Leave me to suffer here alone."

Rose barked out a laugh. "Suffer?" She grinned to him, "Maybe if you hadn't built this thing, you wouldn't be in such misery." Rose struck a poise like she was dying a dramatic death. One hand was on her chest, over her heart, the other over her forehead, her head thrown back, mouth open and eyes closed.

Samuel rolled his eyes at his favorite actress. There had been rumors about him and Rose with their frequent, playful banter and how close they were. People had tried to make it look like they were in love, but Sam loved Grace and Rozalia. He would never cheat on his Grace, never. Yes, his relationship with Rose was close, but he loved her only as a sister. Nothing more, nothing less.

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><p>"It is you!" Margaret 'Maggie' Brown said, jumping up. "I saw in that magazine and I thought at first that surely it couldn't be but here you are."<p>

"Tell nobody," Rose said seriously, tilting her hat so that it covered the side of her face that could be seen from the window and sitting at the table across from Maggie. "I'm not going back and nothing you or anyone else says can make me."

"Got sick of Cal cutting your meat for you?" she asked knowingly.

"I got sick of having to keep quiet because our family was in debt and Mother was acting as if I was no more than a harlot." Maggie raised a bow at Rose. The actress looked to the waiter that stopped at their table. "Coffee, black, cream and sugar on the side."

"I'll have a cup of tea, sonny."

"Yes, ma'ams." The waiter scurried off.

"You were at the same party that the Hockleys were at a few months ago." Rose smirked.

"It's wonderful. Nathan Hockley hates me more than he did when I was alive."

"You didn't run into Cal at all?"

"He knows I'm alive. He also knows that Rose DeWitt Bukater is dead and not coming back with him." Rose laughed solemnly. Her hands were knotted on the table and she turned to watch the people pass by. "For the first time that I've known the man, we actually sat down and had a decent conversation. Most of it was said through a door, but now he knows the full truth about what happened on Titanic. I can't completely forgive him for what he did, and I can't forget what he did, but we're going to start over. We're friends now. He's sworn to secrecy."

"You seem sure he won't tell." It wasn't supposed to be a question, but went Maggie spoke it, that's how it came out that way.

"He knows this important to me. I might have mentioned in our conversation that night that if he crossed me, I would tell the world who I really was and tell them what he did and he can get arrested for attempted murder, lying to an officer, assault." Maggie's eyes widened.

"He tried to kill you?"

"He tried to kill Jack. I don't know if I want to ask him if he would have shot me or not." A hand was over Maggie's mouth, a look of horror on her face.

"My God, Rose. Why are you telling me this?"

"I need someone with an unbiased view that can back up my story if anything was to happen."

"I have to know your story first. The full story." Rose smiled and began.

* * *

><p>"We're going to keep running into each other like this, aren't we?" Cal asked pleasantly to Rose who was sitting on the fountain at the park. She smiled up to him.<p>

"Maybe. It keeps things interesting." He offered her a hand, and she took it, standing. He offered her his arm, and she accepted that as well. Together, they strolled around the park.

"I feel like I hardly know you." Rose shrugged.

"I'm a complicated person."

He looked at her lovingly as she admired some flowers in full bloom on the bushes that they past. He gazed at her with a fondness and adoration so great that if she had turned, there would be no doubt of his feelings for her as she watched young children running and laughing. He had little doubt in his mind as he saw the children's mother scold the two, a maid standing behind her holding a parasol over her mistress, that this might have been their children had they married.

One would have to be a son, of course, and he would want a little girl as well to adore. Somehow, Ex-wife Number Two had gained custody over his daughter, how someone who should be in an insane asylum could be aloud to have an infant was beyond him. He wanted a little girl to adore, to give Rose her heart's desires. More than that, he wanted Rose, the one thing he could never have.

"Mel!" Rose called to a man across the park, who was sitting on a bench, reading a paper, "Melvin Donnelly, I know you can hear me." The man's paper shifted and revealed Melvin Donnelly, art enthusiast and the newest publicist on the Hollywood scene, despite the fact that Hollywood was over 2,000 miles away.

"Rose Dawson," the man said, folding his paper and standing, "Might I say you're looking rather lovely today. And who might this be?"

"Mel, this is Caledon Hockley of Hockley Steel, the company that Sam bought the steel for the ship when he decided he had to go on a completely irrational mission and built himself a yacht that could pass for a small liner. Cal, this is Melvin Donnelly, publicist and editor for the Los Angeles Times."

The two men shook hands and Mel turned back to Rose. "Did Grace kill him?" Rose smiled.

"She was ready to. If Róża hadn't walked in, she might have wrapped her hands around his throat and strangled him to death." Mel chucked.

"Ah, the world knows she never would, darling. Between you and I, she'd be lost without him." Rose smirked.

"I know. Who would she else could she verbally spar with? I'd say I would, but considering how those little spats of theirs end up…"

"It's amazing they don't have a whole crowd of children." Rose's eyes twinkled, Cal noted, as she made her retort to him.

"You said it, not me."

"Look Rosie, there's a reason why I'm here. The thing is, Holloway isn't in charge anymore."

"He's not?" Rose looked absolutely startled by that news.

"Holloway's dead." Rose's face held pure horror. "He died two weeks ago. I wanted to tell you and Sam before you two heard from Holloway's lawyer. He left almost everything to Sam. What he didn't give to Sam, he gave to you. His widow is angry over this. She's sure you two forced him to change the will and then killed him, but she can't pin it to you. I know you're both innocent."

"Neither of us have seen him since September of last year, at that benefit, remember? He poured Champaign over Joceline's dress."

"I remember. But look, it would be best you if both lie low. Sam especially. Jeanette doesn't think you did it as much as she thinks Sam did. Tell him to leave the country even, to take Grace and Róża and go to some quiet place, England or France or even Portugal. He doesn't need the trouble now." Rose nodded.

"You should go to their house. It might be best if you tell Grace this first. She has a right to know."

"I know," he squeezed Rose's arm. "Be safe. You know I'm always here for you, incase you need anything. I'll send word out when you two are cleared for good from the list." Rose nodded numbly. As soon as Mel had disappeared, Rose's knees gave in. Cal was hardly able to catch her with what little warning he had. He helped to the bench to sit down.

"Oh God! That wretched witch! I can't believe she would say such a thing!" Rose's face was in her hands.

"Why would he leave you and Samuel everything?"

"Because his wife would try to spend everything. Charles Holloway is-" she took a deep breath, "Was the owner of the studio. Sam was part of the board and him and I would do anything was necessary to finish movies, plays, or whatever project we were working on. Before it was movies, it was plays and there would be cameras and cameramen, filming the plays. You see, Chuck owned a theater in Santa Monica as well as the studio. The theater was my first job after I moved there. He was like a foster father to me."

Cal nodded, sitting beside her on the bench. "I won't let you be accuse of something you didn't do. You've been here the whole time since the party. Besides, two weeks ago…"

"Sam, Grace, and I were looking at how the boat was and then the two of us took turns scolding him for having a liner built when at first he told us it was just a set, then it would be a yacht."

Cal chuckled softly, rubbing Rose's back soothingly.

"I think he's crazy, but I can't admit that near my father. He looks like a little child who just got a huge Christmas present. He's probably trying to set me up with Wife Number Three." For the first time since Melvin had told Rose the news, she smiled at him. It was a sad smile, but it was still there. Cal took this as a good sign, taking Rose's hand in his and giving it a squeeze. "Everything is going to be all right."


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing.

So in this chapter, it's Thanksgiving and it's even more years later again and Sam still hasn't grown up. Go figure. Róża is ten, but she isn't as mature as she should be due to growing up with Sam. Oh and one more little note; Grace is from Poland and worked in bad conditions. She had an abusive family also, so a heads up, yelling makes her really scared.

Disclaimer: I don't own Titanic. I do own Cal's almost fiancée, Valerie Tyler Smith, and of course, the ever present Sullivans.

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><p>The most memorable time Cal ever visited the Sullivan Mansion; it was November 30, 1922. His father insisted that they go to the Sullivan's for dinner after an invitation from Jeffrey and Sarah Martin Sullivan. However, he didn't there could be anything scarier or closer to torture than sitting at a table with his father, his ex-fiancée that he still had feelings for, the woman he father was pushing to be Wife Number Three, his ex-fiancée's boss, her boss' parents, her boss' wife who was a close friend of his ex-fiancée, and his ex-fiancée's boss' wife's child and child's friend.<p>

Nathan Hockley slapped Cal's knee. "Smile. You're going to be getting another fiancée. You look like you're on death row." Cal smoothed a fake smile onto his face, wishing for this to all be over. "I hope they don't have that vulgar actress with them," he heard his father mutter as they pulled up to the Sullivan Mansion, their driver stopping and getting out to opened the door for the two men. Valerie Tyler Smith, to be Wife Number Three, was meeting them there.

"Nathan, Caledon," Jeffrey greeted the two warmly as they entered the house. "I'm glad you could make it." Nathan nodded his head.

"Thank you for inviting us."

"Yes, thank you," Cal said, finding the words hard to say. He just wanted to see Rose. Two years of friendship was driving him crazy. He just wanted to take her into his arms and declare her to be his "dead" fiancée to the world and marry her. He didn't want to marry some textile mill heiress. He wanted Rose, only Rose.

"The ladies are in the sitting room, catching up with each other. Excuse my son though, he's working and worrying. We'll be lucky if Grace and Miss Dawson can knock some sense into him at some point."

"It's brilliant!" the three men hear someone yell, followed by a loud "OW! What'd you do that for?"

"Like I said, it will be a good day for us when the two of them knock some sense into him for good."

"I am not going a wearing _that __thing,_if you can even call that clothing, in a movie!" Rose shrieked at him.

"Why not?" Samuel looked genuinely confused.

"Well, to start," Grace began calmly, "undergarments have more on them that those things do." Samuel frowned, looking at them for a moment before erasing some lines and adding others. "It's brilliant!" Rose glanced at the paper and saw that the sketch hardly contained more than it did moments ago and promptly slapped him clear across the face. "OW! What'd you do that for?"

"Um, Samuel, honey," Grace said softly, "That's still not clothing. Try something a little less… uh… um… risqué."

When Samuel still looked at the paper confused, Rose cried, "Oh, just give me that," snatching the pencil and paper and making changes to the outfit so that it covered her stomach, covered her knees and didn't look as if she was trying to show off a new underwear collection. "There."

"Huh," he said, "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're you," she said, still fuming. Grace laughed.

"Now, now children. No fighting. It's Thanksgiving and we have company." Rose rolled her eyes. "Besides, they probably heard Rose's slap from down the road."

* * *

><p>"Máma!" Róża called, standing up and running to her mother as the three entered the room, hugging her tightly, before moving to Rose, "Anna Rosie!" Rose laughed at Grace's daughter's child-like nickname for her still. "Tata!" she cried, hugging her father.<p>

"Sorry we're late," Grace said, "Sam decided to try his hand at costume designing and it was… um…" she said, reminding Rose of the almost child-like Polish woman she had found so many years before.

"It was awful," Rose said bluntly. "I think he should let the costume designers do they're jobs for a change, instead of being so stubborn."

At this, the Sullivan's laughed. Róża snuggled into Rose's side, giving Cal a wide, toothy grin while Mr. Hockley scowled. Cal blinked and looked at her confused.

"Hi!" she waved, "I'm Róża. Máma said I'm named for Anna Rosie." She hopped up and walked over to him, sticking her right hand out in front of her to him.

Cal smiled awkwardly at the little girl who held out a hand to him. "It nice to meet you, Miss Róża. I'm Cal." Cautiously, he took it and gave it a small shake. She grinned largely and moved to Valerie. "Hi!"

"Ew!" Valerie shrieked, "Get away from me! Get away from me before I catch your child germs!" Róża cocked her head sideways at Valerie, as if staring at the strange lady sideways would make her make sense.

"I don't have any germs. I washed my hands, Miss." Valerie stared at the child like she was crazy and turned to Cal.

"We will not be having any children," she declared. Rose kept an impassive face, and Cal wished now more than ever he knew what she was thinking.

* * *

><p>"This is delicious, Sarah. You have excellent taste," Nathan Hockley told Sarah Martin Sullivan, who looked down, blushing. As soon as she stopped looking at him, he glared at the actress. She was vulgar, impolite, and unsophisticated. He knew his son fancied her. It made him ill at the very thought.<p>

Here he had, picking out a nice woman for his ungrateful son, despite the fact that she didn't wish for children, who came from money. How dare Caledon think that crude actress would be a good match! He was trying to ensure the Hockley's survival. She would get over her dislike of children or they could hire a nanny.

Nathan sent another glare at Rose Dawson, for the sixtieth time this evening.

"That's it!" Samuel Martin Sullivan yelled, standing up, slapping his napkin on the table, "Do you have a problem with them, Mr. Hockley?"

Rose's eyes flickered to Samuel as she watched him lose his temper. She had casually ignored Nathan Hockley's glares between her and Grace all night, but Samuel obviously hadn't.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, playing innocent.

"You've been glaring at my wife and Rose all night. Do you have a problem with them, Mr. Hockley?" Samuel glared at that sentence. "Don't even bother lying. I know you do. I want to know what your problem is with them!" Sam demanded.

Rose covered her mouth with her napkin under the guise of wiping her mouth, when in reality, she was laughing silently behind her napkin. Grace's eyes were wide and she looked faint. Never had her husband ever yelled at anyone besides her or Rose, and generally, her and Rose would start it. Cal stared forward, straight-faced, knowing if he moved, he would start laughing.

"And you!" Sam continued, "I appreciate if you stop looking at my family like we're dirt under your shoe, _Miss_Tyler Smith. I'd also appreciate it if you'd stop sending flirting glances at me."

"Why I never-" Valerie began, but Samuel cut her off, holding up his hand to proudly display a golden band on his left ring finger.

"I am married, M-A-R-R-I-E-D. Do you know what that means? It means I have a wife and I don't plan on leaving someone as perfect as her for the likes of you! So stop it already!"

With that, Samuel turned and walked out. Rose knew he'd never hit a woman, but tonight, she knows he came pretty close. She thought Valerie has a nerve to look outraged that Sam caught her staring. She's grateful Róża was in bed, unable to see her stepfather who she still thought was her father lose it or watch tears began to leak down her mother's eyes.

Sending a glare at Valerie, Rose helped Grace up, leading her to Grace and Sam's bedroom. Grace clung to Rose as she sobbed and Rose let her, knowing that screaming and yelling pulled her into memories deep within her past from Poland to the time she met Rose. "Shh, sweetie, everything's okay. You're alright."

As soon as Jeffery and Sarah had left to check on Samuel and Grace respectively, Cal turned to his father. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" Nathan asked innocently.

"Don't play dense," Cal told him. His father's face turned stormy.

"You won't speak to me like that again! Do you understand?" Cal flinched at the eerily familiar words, words that had sealed losing Rose.

"You aren't my boss! You're my father-"

"And you will treat me as such! You won't hang around with that _gold__digging,__flapper_ of an actress. You will stop acting like a child. I will not be made out a fool! Is this in any way unclear?"

"Yes!" Cal said standing up, "You force me to marry two of the most awful women on the planet! You try to tell me who I can and can't be friends with! I'm a grown man! I can make my own decisions! Yes, I will be friends with Rose Dawson. She isn't a gold-digger. She's a wonderful woman and she's very brave and I admire her for making her own way in the world rather than sit and float on other's fortunes. You shouldn't glare at people just because you don't like them. You can't _beg_ for business then glare at the people you begged wives just because they're an immigrate with a child from their first marriage. You can see yourself out and take _her_ home. I won't have you make more of a fool out of me."

Nathan Hockley looked absolutely appalled. "I am your father, Caledon! You do not tell me what to do!"

"No," a voice said, low and dangerous, and both Hockley men turned to see Rose standing in the doorway. Her face was set in anger. "However, Mr. Hockley," she said, directing her statement at Nathan, "you've done more than enough damage here tonight. It would be best you leave now."

Nathan glared at her and walked up to her. "I don't know who you think you are, Miss Dawson, but you should not be interrupting in family matters."

Cal didn't know how Rose did it, but somehow, despite being shorter that his father, she managed to look down her nose at him. He supposed it had something to do with living with Ruth for seventeen years. She had mastered the most 'I am above you' look ever and was giving that look to his father now.

"You don't get it, do you, Mr. Hockley? It doesn't matter who I am or who I'm not. It's who you are. You are a snob. You think you are better than everyone who has less money than you. You're rude and uncouth and controlling. You don't like me because you don't know what I'll say that might ruin your prefect reputation," Cal watched her tell his father and he watched the color drain from his father's face as he turned on heel and walked away. Rose raised her eyebrow at Valerie. "Shall I start on your flaws and everything you've done since you walked in this house, _Miss_ Tyler Smith, starting with your treatment of my goddaughter?"

Valerie pouted, wrinkling her nose at Rose like she smelt something bad. "Please don't," Valerie said in her nasal voice, "I don't need to hear anything from a slut." Rose's head jerked up hard. Cal held his breath for a split second, remembering how he had called Rose that all those years ago. Rose didn't look at Valerie, rather right through her and Cal stepped between them, chuckling.

"Valerie," Cal said and she began batting her eyelashes at her, "You shouldn't be calling others sluts when you're one yourself. Go to your home," he spit out, "Don't bother coming back even if my father tells you to."

Valerie gave another outraged look at him, huffed, then marched out of the dining room. Rose and Cal heard the door slam seconds later.

"How's Grace?" he asked her softly. Rose nodded. "And Sam?" she shrugged. "How about you? Are you alright?"

Rose didn't answer for a moment. Then suddenly, she moved and she was in his arms, her face buried in his neck. Cal could feel the wetness falling from her eyes onto his collar. All Cal could do was hold her, hold her with the hands that he had slapped her, abused her with, a feat he was ashamed of. He had even gone as far as shoot at Jack Dawson and her. "Thank you," he heard her whisper.

Cal shook his head. "I'm sorry," he answered back in the same quite voice. "I'm so sorry."

Rose nodded her head, burying her face deeper into his collar. She knew he wasn't just apologizing for tonight, he was apologizing for everything.

"Stay with me," she whispered again and Cal looked at her in shock, "Please don't leave me alone." Cal smiled softly, laying a small kiss to her forehead.

"I won't leave you alone, Rose."

"Thank you for defending me." Cal sighed and nodded, knowing he didn't deserve her thanks.

"Let's get you up to bed." Rose swallowed and nodded. Almost an hour later, Rose was curled into Cal's chest, Cal's arms wrapped around her. Rose was fast asleep. This was definitely the most memorable time he had ever visited the Sullivan mansion.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter is years later (again) in 1929 right when the markets crashed. The first bit of the chapter is right before, the rest of it is after. Cal and Rose have grown much closer from the last chapter which took place seven years ago, but still aren't together. I found it too unrealistic that Rose would just jump into a relationship with him, even after knowing him for around 18 years (because we know they wouldn't have gotten engaged the day they met and went on a cruise to Europe then back. How unrealistic for this time period would that be? You couldn't even be alone in the same room as a man without a chaperone for the most part.) and 10 years of being friends. So we are now at 17 years 6 months and 14 days after the Titanic sunk. I found that they have come a very long way from who they were in the first chapter to now.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>"No!" Rose cried out, laughing loudly as she held out the "o", picking up a pinch of flour and throwing it at Cal. Cal scowled playfully at her before he began to laugh as well. It had been nine years since he discovered Rose was alive, nearly seven since she really decided to give him a second chance and let him back into her life. He never could remember being so happy in his life.<p>

Rose was stunning at thirty-four. Her eyes were bright and alive. Her hair was as fiery as ever and he couldn't remember when she looked more beautiful.

But all good things have to come to an end. Rose had to go home to the Sullivan Mansion, the place that had become her home since she was "adopted" into their family. She was gone and the Hockley Mansion was cold once more.

Since that Thanksgiving all those years ago, Cal's relationship with his father had been strained. Whenever Nathan Hockley came to the Hockley Mansion now, it meant trouble.

"Did you see the news, Caledon?"

"No. What is it?" Cal asked Nathan boredly.

"The stocks have crashed. Our money is gone. Take your pick," Nathan sneered at his son. "You're a failure. This would have never have happened if you had just married Valerie Tyler Smith. We would have never lost our wealth. It was a good match. You're selfish and stubborn and are the stupidest creature I have ever had the misfortune of calling my son!" Nathan Hockley yelled, smacking the newspaper on Cal's desk before storming out.

The next few days were a nightmare for Cal. He hadn't seen Rose and that was just as well. He was a mess. Everything he worked for… gone. It was dust in the wind.

Cal picked up a pen and began to write a letter to those who needed one, Rose, Samuel, whom he had become a great friend of over the years, and Grace.

When he was done, he picked up the silver pistol from the Titanic, the one he had taken from Lovejoy. It had one shot left. A fitting ending, he supposed, a very fitting ending indeed.

Rose entered the Hockley mansion quietly using her key. She had forgotten her script here from the other day, but was too prideful to admit that to Samuel. Cal would tell Sam if he caught her.

It was in the study, she was sure. When she opened the door to the study, she paused, eyes wide. Her hand unconsciously slid over her mouth as she gaped.

"Cal," she whispered. "Don't do it. Please don't do it."

Cal's head eyes shot up at the sound of Rose's voice, but she had already approached closer. He shook his head, warning her to stay back but she refused to listen.

"Please Cal," she pleaded, but he shook his head and pulled the trigger.

Rose's heart stop as he did before she ran to him. When she did, she pulled the gun, the gun that luckly got stuck, away from him, throwing it at the far wall. Cal was still alive. "You're such an idiot," she whispered softly, taking his head in her arm and rocking back in forth, "Don't you know how much you scared me?"

Cal swallowed, suddenly feeling worse than he had before. Rose had caught him trying to do what she had failed to do as well. Now, she was holding him, and he could her the tears in her voice, feel the salty drops fall into his hair.

"You deserve so much," Cal whispered back, finding it difficult to move. When he could, he wrapped and arm around her waist. "Rose, I can't give you anything," he whispered, sounding almost lifeless, "I'm a failure."

Rose's heart stuttered. The large leather chair was big enough that she was able to sit beside Cal but she was still able to hold him, to let herself know that the man who had protected her, loved her, wounded her, hurt her, abused her, forgot her, cried over her, and tried to make her happy, that he was still here, that the gun got stuck and didn't fire.

"No, you're not," Rose whispered back, "You're not a failure."

"Everything's gone."

"It's not your fault. It's affected everyone. As I came here this morning, there were mansions that were foreclosed by the banks and people on the street in fine clothes and whatever they could carry, looking more than lost. But things are going to be okay."

"No, they won't be," he replied bitterly, "Father will always believe that it's my fault and that I am a failure."

"Cal," she whispered softly and he turned to look at her, to face her for the first time since he tried to commit suicide. The word felt bitter in his mouth. He had tried to take the coward's way out. She was the reason he wasn't dead right now.

He knew, that with that one word, his name, she said everything that she couldn't say at this moment. She was telling him that she had forgiven him, that she didn't blame him for Dawson's death, despite everything. She was saying to him that she didn't see him as a failure. She was saying she was glad she had been in the house at that exact moment. She was telling him that she that she would have hurt if he had died. More than that, she was telling him that she was there, that she wasn't leaving. It was a lot more than he was able to say that night she tried to kill herself.

"I love you, Rose. I've always loved you," he whispered, "My life is empty without you," and just like that, the moment was broken. He desprately wanted to hit himself on the head, but didn't, for fear it would upset her.

Rose pulled back away from Cal. She could see his face, clearly vulenerable as she searched it. He wasn't lying, she knew, she just didn't know if she could accept that as truth. She could be friends with him, but she didn't think she could go through the heartbreak of actually being with Cal again.

She was releaved, to say the least, when the telephone rang and she was able to slip free when Samuel showed up moments later. She didn't know where'd she would go, she just started walking.

She recognized a red headed woman with a small girl as she stopped in front of the window of a store to glance inside. The pair were dressed in furs and hats.

"Mother," the girl said softly, "that lady's hair matches yours."

Rose didn't look over to them. She didn't have to. The little girl's voice matched her own as a child.

"Mildred," Rose listened as Ruth DeWitt Bukater snapped at the child, "Don't point. It's common."

"But, Mother," the little girl, Mildred, protested, "why does she look like you?"

Rose continued staring in the window at the display. There were all sorts of fancy devices and trinkets, things that might never sell now that the stocks had crashed. She wondered if Cal might have bought things like that for her if she had married him before. She wondered if it really was possible for a person to change so much. Behind them, a car rumbled to a stop. A driver opened the door and someone stepped out.

"Rose!" a voice cried and Rose turned quickly, "I've been looking for you!" Grace said with disbelief in her voice and Rose rushed to her, ignoring her mother and possible half-sibiling. "The studio was burned down. The police don't know who did it. Sam went out for a drink, but you need to come home. They're going to be having a board meeting in Los Angelos in seven days and you're part of the board."

"Does this week get any worst?" Rose asked rhetorically.

"I've heard that Jeanette is trying to sue again. She swears you and Sam broke into her house last night." Rose rolled her eyes at this.

"If I pay someone the money to do it, do you think they could get her locked in a mental hospital?" Grace gave a sad smile.

"Rose?" an uncertain voice asked. Rose turned and face her mother. "It is you," she gasped.

"Hello Mother," Rose answered in a faux pleasant voice.

"But you died!"

"Obviously not," the younger of the two scoffed.

"Why didn't you contact us? Did you want to see me starve? Did you want to see me working as a seamstress?" Rose raised an eyebrow at the woman.

"You didn't starve and you obviously have not be working as a seamstress, Mrs. Royce-Hamilton." Ruth looked taken aback that Rose knew just how well of she had been over the past several years. Good, she thought, she should be.

"So where's your starving artist?" Ruth asked her daughter coldly.

"Dead," the younger of the two answered in the same cold tone.

"Rose…" Grace warned, "The board won't care if you're there or not, remember. Remember what they did to Richie?"

Rose sighed. "Poor Richie. Lord rest his soul. I'm sure he's glad he's not here now. Could you imagine?"

"Don't speak ill of the dead," Grace hissed.

"I am doing no such thing. Richie was a wonderful person. Remember how he'd always bring everyone cake. I swear I gain ten pounds from him trying to fatten me up and turn me into a pie." Grace laughed, remembering. "It's been lovely to see you again, Mother. Don't be such a stranger. Let's do this again in another twelve years instead, alright?"

Ruth's mouth dropped as she watched her daughter turn around and walk away with the other woman, back to the car and step inside. Ruth wondered what had been going through her daughter's head as she had stared in the window of the store. More than that, she wondered if Caledon knew she was alive.

* * *

><p>Poor Rich(ie). :) I just had to put that in. It was too ironic not to.<p>

The pie reference Rose makes is a reference to the witch in Hansel and Gretel who tries to fatten Hansel up to eat.

I think there will be one more chapter after this one and an epilogue. I think I'll be able to wrap up everything in that amount of time.


	7. Chapter 7

I hope everyone had a nice Christmas!

Sorry for taking so long to post this. I was trying to make the chapter better and got caught up in everything else (including Christmas) and kind of forgot to update this story. This isn't a very long chapter, I know. It felt long while I was writing it.

So I think this is going to be the last chapter. I think there will be an epilogue, like between 10-20 years later (Because everyone who's read this knows just how much I love my time jumps.) so look out for that.

Thank you everyone who has read this. It has been quite the journey and experience for me. (And just because I'm thank you doesn't mean you should stop reading. THIS ISN'T THE END! I promise! There's 1 MORE CHAPTER after this! :D )

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Caledon Hockley made his decision. He would have a funeral for himself and disappear. It's not as if he'd be truly missed, especially not with the market the way it was.<p>

He finished packing his final bag and a servant loaded them into the car. He would board a train and never return.

"Cal!"

Cal snapped around at the sound of the voice. He hardly had a minute to see who it was before they slammed into him, hugging him tightly. "Come with me to California."

Cal looked at Rose with confusion. He adored this woman, yes, but he had laid his heart out for her hours before and she ignored it.

"What's in California?"

"There's a board meeting," Rose explained hurriedly, "The studio was burned down, but that's besides the point. I want to try things between us again. I think we owe it to ourselves to really see if we could work."

Cal nodded dumbly as he understood what she was saying. "Are you asking me out, Rose?" She gave him a small, nervous smile and nodded. "Alright," he agreed, "I'll go to California with you."

Rose beamed and took his hand, reminding him of a child, despite her age. "Well come on! Put his things in my car. Let's go!"

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><p>"Tickets," the conductor asked Cal on the train as Rose was curled in against him inside the compartment of the train. She was fast asleep and was taking great enjoyment of using his arm and shoulder as a pillow and as something to hug tightly.<p>

With some difficulty, Cal was able to extract their tickets from his pocket and hand them to the conductor as Samuel, Grace, and Róża rejoined them.

"You should probably wake her," Grace said softly, "We're almost there."

Cal nodded, giving the sleeping redhead a small shake. She woke with a start. "What is it?" she mumbled groggily.

"Well, for one, my arm is numb," Rose snapped back, blushing, "We're pulling into the station. We're in California."

Rose nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned.

"Anna Rosie," the now fourteen-year-old Róża asked softly, "Are you two in love?"

Awkwardness filled the compartment as Cal and Rose moved to opposite sides of the compartment, Grace turned as red as Rose's hair, and Sam started to stutter, trying to scold his stepdaughter.

"Róża!" Grace finally was able to spit out once her silence ended, beating her husband to the scolding, "Don't ask such personal questions!"

Róża shrugged. "It's just that they were fast asleep and they looked very cozy together."

Sam looked like he might breath fire. "You shouldn't be talking like that."

"But everyone was saying how when Virginia Nelson passed out, Ricky Felders carried her to the nurse's then laid his head on the pillow next to her's because he loves her."

The adults all looked at the girl who had grown up far too quickly for any of their liking. The train jerked to a stop at the station.

"Ok missy, let's get you off the train now," Grace said, taking her daughter by the arm, "You need to stop asking such questions."

Rose had a house in California, Cal was stunned to learn. It had been left to her by Charles Holloway. It was impressive, a beautiful home in a Spanish architectural style. It held a warmth and homeliness that the Hockley mansion never did.

Rose had a friend, one who was one the brink of death with an illness, that looked like him. He did what Cal had attempted, able to pull himself off from the former millionaire. It was the escape he had needed, but never known how to achieve. After, Cal had gone to a courthouse, telling them that his original birth certificate had been lost in a move, that he was born in 1882 and his name was John Calvert, no middle name. Just like that, he was a new person with a new name and new identity.

Rose still insisted on calling him Cal though. She told him that she had always known him as that, and she will always know him as that. It wasn't some grand declaration of love that he was hoping for, but for now, it was enough.

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><p>Don't forget to read and review.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8 Epilogue

So here we are, twelve years after chapter 7. This is the epilogue.

Begin mini rant.

Yes, I know Cal sounds majorly OOC, but this is 29 years after the Titanic sank. He is definitely NOT the man he was on the Titanic. He's grown up, matured, settled down.

End mini rant.

Okay, on with the story.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Twelve years had passed since Cal had traveled to California was Rose. He was now living in Iowa, in Cedar Rapids, a father of two more children, Jacquenetta Andrea Calvert and Thomas Andrew Calvert. Rose had sold her Californian home and used the money to buy her, Cal, and the children a nice quiet home in Iowa, away from prying eyes and the mentions of Rose Dawson and Caledon Hockley.<p>

Rose had gotten her way on naming the children. Thomas Andrew after the ship builder on Titanic, who Rose had been friendly with on board the ship. Jacquenetta, Cal cringed to think, came from Jack's name, or a version of it. Still, he was happy.

For Christmas, he took his family up to New York. Thomas, age ten, wanted to become an actor and Jacquenetta, only seven, wanted to be a singer. It was Christmas Eve and he could hear footsteps coming in from the suite's living room where the children were staying to where they were, most likely to look out the window and see if they could spot Santa Claus.

"Shh Jackie," he heard, "We have to be quiet so we don't wake Mom and Dad."

"I am being quiet, Tom," he heard the little voice of his daughter say, "You're the one clunking around." Cal chuckled softly, careful not to wake his wife. In the bed beside him, she stirred softly. He brushed back her lovely curls and placed a soft kiss to his love's temple.

"Mmm, sleep now," she whispered, snuggling into him. He shook his head, despite that her eyes were closed.

"I can't. Jackie and Tom are coming this way." She made a noise in agreement, pulling at the covers tighter. Cal stepped from the bed, slipping on his slippers and robe. "Come on, you two," he said softly to his children as he caught them, "Back to bed."

They groaned. "Aww, but Dad!"

"We're going to miss Santa!" Tom said. Cal shook his head.

"Now, you know Santa won't come if you're both awake. You need to sleep for Santa to come give you gifts. Now back in bed, both of you."

"Yes, Dad," they both answered, crawling back into their beds, the suite's couch and a chair. Like the good father he was, he tucked them both in.

Cal left the living room, moving back into the bedroom where he crawled between the covers. "I was right, you know," he whispered to his wife.

"How?"

"My life is empty without you. The money, the factories, being a member of that society, it was nothing without you." He chuckled softly, smothering his face into her curls. "Listen to that, you've turned me into a love sick fool, Rose."

She lifted an arm and wrapped it around his torso, burying her face into his strong chest. The hands that had once slapped her, so very long ago, were gently running themselves through her hair. Cal was still Cal, just humbled, human. And more than that, he loved her. Somehow, she didn't find that she was doing anything against Jack's memory, rather, it seemed that her and Cal were continuing to honor it together, making each and every one of their days together count.

"As long as you're my love sick fool," she shot back, pulling back to gazing into his eyes. "I love you, Cal."

Cal leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. No ulterior motives, no pretenses, just them. "I love you too, Rose. Sleep tight, sweet pea."

She rolled her eyes at the long forgotten nickname, closing her eyes as she succumbed to the sleep. Somehow, she had known from the beginning that this is how it was supposed to be, her and Cal and their children. It just hadn't been the right place or right time yet. Cal hadn't been the right person yet. It had taken him nearly thirty years to become the person he was now, a far cry from the greedy, selfish man who had shot her and Jack into the sinking liner. They didn't mention those days, not anymore. They didn't mention Jack, or the Heart of the Ocean, or anything that had to do with the doomed ship. But now, it was the right time and they had the rest of their lives to look forward to together.

In a way, they had started fresh. Rose wrote a letter every so often to her mother, but Ruth, who had pushed so hard for Cal and Rose to get married in the first place, didn't attend their wedding, nor came to see her grandchildren, thinking Cal to be 'some come shop keeper' as Ruth wrote in her letters. He didn't mind though. He was perfectly happy with his job. Nathan Hockley got a team of lawyers to get Cal's son from his first marriage to Virginia, and his daughter from his second marriage to Beatrice. Cal heard that Nathan had groomed his now adult grandchildren to be able to take over Hockley Steel. Steel would be more valuable than ever, with war sweeping Europe once more and Japan pulling the United States into the war. Only about two weeks ago, the Empire of Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and President Roosevelt made a speech calling December 7 "a date which will live in infamy". The United States was at war with Japan now, and he wondered how long it would be before his eldest son was drafted.

Cal smoothed his wife's hair, settling contently into the bed beside her and pulling the covers up to keep them both warm. As he drifted to sleep, he thought he saw a man outside the window, but sleepily shook that thought away as his eyes drooped shut.

From outside their hotel window, a man smiled as he looked in, though they were on the fifth floor. A man who was really more of a boy. Rose would be okay now.

The End.

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><p>Bonus points if you can tell me who the man in the window is andor how old Cal and/or Rose are.

Make sure you tell me if you liked the story. If you thought it was the worst thing you ever read, tell me. I can take it (with three cartons of ice cream), just break it gently. :) Let's set the goal counter at **25-30** reviews total. Just two to seven measly reviews will make my week!

Thank you everyone who has read and reviewed. It's been a great journey and experience.

For other Titanic fics by me:

Too Late to Apologize- Titanic- Cal/Rose

Forever This Way- Vampire Diaries- Damon/Elena, some, very light Elena/Klaus - Titanic movie plot with a twist!


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